


Before the Crown

by itemfinder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itemfinder/pseuds/itemfinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief history of Pollution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I have probably butchered history in addition to mucking up characters. I tried researching, so I can at least say there was _some_ effort involved, but it was so haphazard that I can't really cite.. anything. I hope my ramblings don't offend, at least.

The late eighteen hundreds were when Pollution really started to make a name for himself, as it were. Humanity was still testing and trying out the idea of industrialization, a process that Pollution was more than excited to encourage. He had slowly eased his way up from just a fleeting concept into more of a looming, global presence, although what he could actually mean for society as a whole hadn't completely sunken in yet[1]. This wasn't to say that he hadn't been around before then, only that humanity's environmental damage hadn't yet grown enough to warrant its own entity.

Death was the first to actually pay him any mind -- but Death had always been a step ahead of (and above) the others. Looking back, Pollution could hardly imagine himself being so new, so open. He had never actually seen Death before; at least, not in person. He had grown used to being unnoticed, slipping in and out of lives without much mention, while always leaving his own personal mark. It was a bit of a jolt to turn one day and see Death just standing there. Pollution couldn't help a shudder. All four of them were known to any concept-made-flesh, but few could say they had encountered any of them, let alone Death himself. Living alongside humanity was, for the most part, a solitary existence, and it was easy to set aside the fact that there were others who were beyond the human experience. After his momentary lapse, Pollution nodded respectfully to the dark Horseman, quickly stepping away from the deforesting he had been encouraging to see what had occasioned the visit.

I WANTED TO SEE YOU, Death had said, pleasantly[2]. NOW SEEMED LIKE A GOOD TIME. Before Pollution could come up with a proper response to that kind of comment, one of the woodsmen, apparently in the throes of a heart attack, knocked into him. By the time he had righted himself, Death was gone, although Pollution felt that the other had not gone far.

Several years passed before Pollution realized that he should have taken the encounter as more than just a random happenstance. If the fourth Horseman decides to take an interest in you, it's probably a sign of something more. He had hardly considered himself a candidate for any kind of interest at the time, let alone aspiring for one of the Horseperson slots, but it was the memory of the visit that kept him pushing innovation on the few occasions that it seemed humanity could handle itself without his presence.

Ironically, the very progress that slowly eked away Pestilence's power was exactly what buoyed Pollution up to a position where he could actually be considered in the same breath as War, Death, and Famine. While Pestilence was feeling the threat of vaccines, anatomical study, and actual proven treatments, Pollution was helping to pioneer advances in factories, steam engines, and urbanization. Since he was still operating as something of a free agent at the time -- defiling for nothing more than the joy of the final result -- he was able to turn his hand to anything and everything he chose. The more he could entwine himself in the daily lives of humans, the more his power grew. Experiencing factory life firsthand was one of his greatest joys, especially when a day or two on the job could help to leave the working conditions worse than they were before he arrived.

However, not all of his time was spent in such a hands on manner. The majority of the most affecting developments could be traced to one of two places: a job site, or a lab somewhere. And while joining in on the work was certainly where Pollution preferred to spend his time, sometimes the scientific side needed a few subtle nudges. Laboratory settings were much more amenable before the medical profession stepped in and started making noise about contaminants and sanitizing work areas, but sometimes the cleanest workplace created the most unclean end result. Plastic was a particularly moving advance. Like most of his early work, it had to be organic first, but chemists weren't content to leave creation in nature's hands and it didn't take long for a synthetic version to be created and patented.

It amused Pollution to start with organic concepts. People just seemed more trusting of things they could pick up off of the ground, or find in trees. He sometimes wondered about that, and about what kind of omniscient creator remembered to make humans consider excrement unappealing, but forgot to add in reminders to avoid starting fights with creatures that could eat five of them for a morning snack.

Most of Pollution's work wound up more as assistance to humanity's innovation than actually creating anything from the ground up. Mankind had been putting random objects into their mouths since Eve took a dietary tip from a serpent, and the variation of chewing without swallowing was certainly nothing new. Pollution first decided to encourage what would later become chewing gum while on a visit to North America in the middle of the nineteenth century. He'd found himself in New York for a time, visiting the slums and the factories where filth and sickness were astonishingly prevalent[3].

He had been lucky enough to be in the bar where Santa Anna met with Thomas Adams, and couldn't help but overhear the conversation about the uses of chicle. After many failed attempts to create something lasting with a use, Pollution was beginning to think he should give up on the idea. Creating more objects that would take years and years to leave the planet was always a move in the right direction, but Adams seemed unable to make anything of value and Pollution had nearly had enough.

One evening, he had paused on his way to visit Adams yet again to just admire the sight of so much foulness concentrated in one area -- not only the state of the streets themselves, but also of the people walking them. From laziness, to apathy, to simple destitution: the reasons for the contamination ranged; but what mattered was not how it got to that point, but just how beautiful the current state was.

"The things they'll do to themselves are amazing," someone commented from his left. It took him a moment to realize that the comment had been directed to him. The alleyway was otherwise empty, after all, and the gentleman speaking didn't seem to be any kind of lunatic. "Sometimes the only help they need is just that little finesse that turns it into a lasting impression."

After a moment, Pollution realized why the other seemed so familiar. "Are you..." he had to pause to clear his throat, it had been some time since he'd actually needed to say anything to get his work done.

"Famine, yes," was the response, as the Horseman idly brushed some ash off of his formidably black greatcoat. "And you're Pollution." With that introduction out of the way, Famine started off down the street, pausing only to turn and offer one last comment. "I've always felt that moving with progress was the better way to do it."

Whether it was that some of Famine's essence stayed with him, or simply another instance where mankind was unable to keep from sticking unknown substances in their mouth, Pollution could never say for sure. In any case, that night Thomas Adams (who was nearly as discouraged as Pollution by his inability to make anything from the chicle) decided to try out the taste of one of his recently failed experiments. Luckily, it didn't kill him, and apparently the taste pleased him enough that he decided to try selling it to others. It took very little, from there, to urge Adams and his sons to create their own factory line, and a few small nudges through the years moved it from based-on-part-of-a-tree to fully synthetic, although both varieties took a wonderfully long time to decompose.

Pollution didn't actually see War herself until sometime after he'd taken over for Pestilence. If he looked backwards, though, he could tell that she had frequently been around, she just seemed to prefer being in the middle of the action, and he did better behind-the-scenes work. The messes made were always more reaching when they happened quietly, from a quarter you didn't expect. Yes, sometimes there were bigger actions -- shipwrecks had become more and more exciting -- but it was usually something quiet, something that happened so gradually that by the time someone realized it was actually wrong it was just something that they'd always done, and humans were notoriously bad at breaking habits.

One of his first big projects after becoming the newest Horseman was anything and everything nuclear. Mankind was growing more and more comfortable with the idea of mucking about with what God had put there for them to utilize, and they were increasingly finding bigger and better ways of killing each other off. That was probably what caught War's attention. All Pollution knew was that when he went to visit the Trinity test site a few days after the detonation, she was there, smiling.

"I kept trying to tell Pestilence to think bigger. If you can't get them to like helping you, what's the point?" She laughed, and he thought he heard the echo of rifles firing. "I think you've got the idea, don't you?"

By this point, Pollution was secure enough in himself to smile back, picking up a handful of the now-glassy soil. "Yes, I think I do." And this time, he was the first to leave, with the image of War's profile against the setting sun still in the forefront of his mind.

They were, all four of them, as much a result of humanity's actions as they were of any plan that Heaven or Hell had formulated ages ago. If humanity somehow got past their innate tendencies to hurt each other and their surroundings, the Horsepersons would be out of a job. But man proved, again and again, that they wanted it, that they enjoyed tormenting others and themselves. Why else would there still be war, still be famine, still be pollution? In an ideal world, they could even outlast death. But until that day -- or Armageddon (whichever came first) -- Pollution would do as he had always done. He would encourage mankind to do just that little bit more.

 

——  


[1] : One could argue that humanity is still uncertain of just how worried they should be about his influence.

[2] : As pleasant as any comment from Azrael, the Shadow of Creation, can be considered, in any case.

[3] : Pollution and Pestilence worked alongside each other for some time before realizing exactly who the other was -- their shared ability to blend in with their surroundings, and the ease with which their works of choice complemented each other meant that there wasn't much of a reason for an acknowledged meeting. In fact, it wasn't until just a year before the passing of the position in 1936 that Pollution and Pestilence spoke to each other at all, and even then it was with a sense of embarrassed déjà vu.  
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